


Let The Flames Begin

by thisismy_design (thisismydesignn)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismydesignn/pseuds/thisismy_design
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The devil makes us sin, but we like it when we're spinning in his grip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Flames Begin

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no basis for this whatsoever, other than a love for the individual characters and a great deal of excitement for The Dark Knight Rises.
> 
> Summary from Paradise Circus by Massive Attack.

Blood laced with poison races through his veins; the fire rises, a fire that’s been burning within him his entire life. Born and raised in hell on earth, only now, he has become Lucifer, the light bringer: fitting, as he watches Gotham burn.

 _Deshi basara,_ they chant, and he answers the call with victory after victory. The city streets run black with blood and ash, the cops run scared and the Bat lies broken as Bane’s mercenaries learn that the only thing there is to fear is fear itself.

And fear runs rampant, Crane’s compound infecting every relatively sane mind left, until the ice blue eyes of Gotham’s judge, jury and executioner gleam with a cruel sense of satisfaction to mirror Bane’s own.

There’s a poison that runs through Crane, too, a twisted thirst that broke his mind long ago but only strengthened his spirit. He no longer recognizes fear, except of the Batman himself, and even then, it’s mixed with a rage and a sick fascination that borders on respect, and Bane knows—he can’t trust Crane, but he can certainly use him.

And perhaps that use has stretched too far, Bane thinks as Crane gazes up at him from his place on his knees, a contradiction of contempt and worship in the twist of his lips, the arch of his brow. Too far, but Bane’s made of fire, not stone and ice. He twists his fingers into Crane’s hair, scrapes along his scalp and, for a moment, feels like he can breathe, no longer suffocating beneath the toxic waste that strengthens and kills him. Buried alive for eighteen years, and his heart may be torn up in his chest but it’s where the fire begins, Crane’s breath on his skin hot enough to ignite, to burn Gotham City to the ground and leave nothing but ashes in its wake.

_Deshi basara._

Even then, it will not be the end.


End file.
